The AntiDefenestration of Whole Milk
by vindictive locomotive
Summary: "Stan was only being proved more right by the second as he watched Kyle twirling around dazedly, trying to hold a conversation with a streetlight, in which he was vehemently denying any past acquaintance with a nearby stop sign." Slight Style


Angst…never thought I had it in me XD

* * *

Stan gritted his teeth as he booked down the streets of South Park in the vague direction of Hell's Pass. He swiftly apologized to a young woman carrying groceries that he had absentmindedly ran straight into, and continued on his desperate way. He briefly wondered why the hell someone was buying groceries at one in the morning, but countered it with the knowledge that she was probably wondering what the hell a crazed teen aged boy was doing running down the street at one in the morning.

The reason _he_ was running down the street at one in the morning, well, Stan hoped his reason would be okay. Stan briefly closed his eyes tight as he remembered the events that had happened not three hours ago.

It wasn't fair, it really wasn't. No one deserved this, especially not Kyle. God, Kyle of all people. Ever since his brother had died a few months ago, life had become a downward spiral for Kyle. He and his brother had been much closer than most people realized, especially their parents, who blamed Kyle for their prodigal son's death. Stan knew, probably more than anybody, that this was an excuse for them to blame someone else for their stupid mistakes. As if Kyle had enough to deal face, with his closest family member passing away, now it had to be _his_ fault. This enraged Stan in way that nobody, not even Kyle could understand, not that he would've noticed anyway, he was too busy drowning in his angst to notice.

The fact that Kyle ran off to hang out with the pussy Goth kids surprised everyone, everyone except Stan. Stan knew, oh he'd seen it coming the second Kyle had received lower than a ninety-five on his Pre-calculus test. Stan knew something huge was up when Kyle had simply slip the tell-tale document into his folder without a single word. Not one. Try as he might to get Kyle to talk to him, it only ended up making Kyle avoid him all the more.

The day Kyle started hanging out behind the school was the day Kyle had officially managed to scare Stan shitless.

It wasn't because he thought he was losing his best friend to an emo fad, it was because in the eight years since Stan's first and only encounter with the Goth kids, they had moved onto bigger and better stimulants other than caffeine and cigarettes.

Stan was only being proved more right by the second as he watched Kyle twirling around dazedly, trying to hold a conversation with a streetlight, in which he was vehemently denying any past acquaintance with a nearby stop sign.

The scene wrenched Stan's heart clean out of him and he nearly fell to the ground seizing with sobs. It wasn't the newly acquired heroin addiction his friend was displaying; it was the fact that this was the _happiest_ Stan had seen him in months. That was something he simply could not stand to accept.

What pissed him off even more was that the Goth kids saw this as some sort of sick payback for Kyle getting their most acclaimed member to "rejoin conformity". Stan could kill them.

After a while, Stan could stand it no more. "C'mon, Kyle, I'm taking you to the hospital." He announced as he attempted to take hold of Kyle's hand.

"But Stan! I can't leave Rob now, we just made up! If I walk out on him now, he'll think I'm cheating on him with Mason for sure!" Kyle protested as he cuddled the unsuspecting streetlamp, glaring at the innocent stop sign all the while.

"Trust me; Rob is the last of your problems right now." He said solemnly, trying his hardest to fight back the tears in his eyes.

And now Stan was putting his ass completely on the line, all so he could get to Hell's Pass. Fucking ambulance, how on God's green Earth could they _not _recognize Super Best Friends as family? He thought as he dodged a fat guy on a moped. It was practically a given to pretty much everyone in this white trash town that Stan and Kyle were a package deal. You got one, you got the other. Wanna hang out with Stan? Too bad, you also have to hang out with Kyle whether you want to or not. Want Kyle to help you study for some big test? Well you'd better be prepared for him to bring Stan along so he can sit in a corner and try to decipher what you "nerds" are talking about.

He nearly threw himself through the double doors when he finally reached Hell's Pass. With an expression akin to that of a lost puppy, he approached the desk. Noticing that there was no service bell, he settled for coughing urgently into his hand. The kind woman at the desk looked up from filing her papers to regard Stan in all his helplessness.

"Can I help you, young man?" she asked delicately, as if Stan might break if she spoke too loud. For all Stan knew, that just might be the case. God sure seemed like he had a funny sense of humor today.

"Hi, I'm looking for my best friend; he was taken here by ambulance a couple hours ago." He tried to make his voice as urgent as possible, hoping the nice lady would get the freaking message that he needed to see his Super Best Friend STAT.

"Name?" She asked professionally as she typed what looked like random shit into her computer, looking for all the world as if she'd done this a thousand times before. Could've fooled Stan.

"Uhm, Kyle Broflovski?" he asked.

After more random typing she finally regarded him with an answer. He's in room 478. She said absently, going back her mindless filing and barely even registering the shrill "thanks" that was thrown her way as Stan ran down the hall.

As Stan tried to approach Kyle's room, he found himself blocked by the devil in white scrubs.

"I'm sorry Kid, family members only." The doctor said, as if he thought he knew what he was talking about.

"Please," Stan seethed, "let me see my best friend." He said as clenched his fists, knuckles slowly turning white. The doctor wasn't having it.

"I'm sorry buy you'll have to come back another time when he's more stable, right now its family members, kid."

"You don't understand," Stan explained, "His family doesn't care enough about him to bother visiting him in the hospital!"

"I'm sorry, but you can't see him!" the doctor yelled. He looked around cautiously as his eyes nervously darted from side to side. It was at this point that Stan was beginning to think that this was way more than a "family member" issue.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. After taking a few deep breaths, he replied, "At least tell me how he's doing." He all but begged.

The doctor didn't miss his desperate tone, but still attempted to surreptitiously hide the chart in his hands behind his back.

"I-I'm sorry but you'll have to come back another time." The doctor stated halfheartedly, losing all the authority he thought he'd originally had.

At this point, Stan could take it no more. He lunged for the doctor and grabbed him by his shirt front, "Look," he spat menacingly, "that is my _best friend_ in there, we're a package deal, you want one, you get the other. You and I both know he made some very bad decisions tonight and now I'm left to pick up the pieces. I know he'd be doing the exact same thing for me, and if I were you I would want to avoid getting my testicles shoved up my urethra and _start spilling_."

When Stan let go of his, the doctor sighed as if he were the least of his problems, after casting a wary glance toward Kyle's room, he looked at Stan and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Look, kid," he started, as if he felt sorry for him. "I've seen more than my fair share of heroin trips and this is by far one of the worst I've ever seen. Somehow, maybe he didn't know it, maybe he did, but somehow he ended up taking more than just heroin. We believe it may have been laced with cocaine, but we can't be too sure. Trust me, if you're his best friend you want to see him like this. We're pretty sure he'll come back from this trip since we're not dealing with acid, but still, he won't be able to recognize you. He's not Kyle right now, at this point he probably doesn't even know who he is, go home and come back tomorrow and I promise you'll be able to see your best friend." The doctor sent him a sympathetic look and patted Stan's shoulder.

Stan wanted to say something more, but then he'd be spilling his heart out to a doctor and he wasn't a _total_ pussy. Instead, he quietly thanked the man and made his way home.

* * *

Three weeks later, he and Kyle were at one of Clyde's parties, gracing each other with their company for the first time in a long while.

And Stan couldn't stand it.

The tension and awkwardness was like a brick wall between them, but it was like God had taken a Sharpie marker of angst and signed the scene with his signature depression. Stan hated it, they weren't in sync the way they used to be. At this point strangers would have been a close relationship compared to how distant they were now.

They sat on the curb on the edge of Clyde's yard, sitting in comfortable silence as all hell broke loose a few yards behind them

Stan wanted to string someone up by their vocal chords when Kyle asked his for a light. They may have been more than total strangers to each other, but Stan knew for a fact that Kyle had never smoked before, never in his life. Not even second hand smoke, they used to avoid situations where they would run into it because of Stan's asthma. But even though they had been distant for the past few months, he still knew Kyle had never smoked. He was still a friend and he still cared about Kyle, so he had taken up shadowing him from a distance. In other words: stalking. Stan didn't care what it looked like to anyone else, he needed to know Kyle was okay, and if these days that meant stalking him then he was going to have to do just that.

Still, he hadn't the faintest idea how he was supposed to reply to Kyle's out of character request. So he supplied a question of his own.

"Where'd you get that anyway?" he asked, gesturing to the cigarette in Kyle's hand. Stan did not fail to notice that his hands were shaking almost imperceptibly.

Kyle shrugged, "Red," he replied nonchalantly, as if he knew he was stirring up all kinds of trouble in Stan's mind at the mere mention of the kid's name.

"Huh," he said intelligently has he reluctantly handed Kyle his lighter, knowing full well that he hadn't the faintest clue what to do with it.

"Th-thanks, dude." He said quietly as Stan stared off into space.

"No problem." He listened to Kyle fumble around a bit more.

"Wrong end." He said casually, without even looking in Kyle's direction. Kyle merely blushed and put his mouth to the other end of the cigarette. After several tries at lighting the lighter, Stan took pity on him and gently tugged the lighter away from Kyle's hands, gesturing for him to lean toward him. As his fingers expertly ignited the lighter, he tried to remember how things used to be. If they had been at this party a few months ago Kyle's would never even _think_ of letting this happen. Now, here was, lighting Kyle's first cigarette. He wanted to punch himself.

After his cigarette had been successfully lit, Kyle hesitated before taking a drag, but he was cut short by his gagging coughs and splutters, clutching at his chest in an attempt to breathe. His lungs felt like they were burning and he didn't like the hot feeling that resided in his trachea long after he had finished his coughing fit.

Stan patted him on the back gently. "Maybe we should save this for another time, huh?" he stated gently. He might be the one to light Kyle's first cancer stick, but he sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to teach him how to use it.

Kyle nodded, looking around for something to clear his throat. His eyes spotted the red Soho cup on Stab's left hand.

"Hey gimme a sip of that." He commanded. Stan knew Kyle was fully aware that it was rum and coke, and that worried him. Kyle never drank, not one sip of alcohol at all the twenty-some-odd parties they'd been to. He reluctantly handed him the drink Clyde had mixed for him, knowing Kyle needed to get the taste of asphalt out of his mouth. Still, he couldn't help biting his lip as Kyle took a swig, and then a sip, and another, and another.

Until Stan couldn't take it anymore and swatted the cup out of Kyle's hand, both boys watch in mild disbelief as the now empty cup rolled around in the road, being pushed and pulled this way and that by the gentle mountain breeze.

And just like that, Kyle's initial shock turned to contempt, and Stan immediately knew he might as well have stepped on a landmine.

"What the hell was that for, douchebag?" Kyle all but yelled the question, his shrill voice echoed through the night. Stan noted that it was the exact same way he used to yell at Cartman for being an asshole, after this thought crossed his mind, Stan promptly snapped.

He swiftly turned and grabbed Kyle's shoulders, "Look, Kyle, I know you're depressed and I know you've been hurt, but that doesn't mean you have shut everyone out. You don't have to keep me in the dark about what you're feeling, because I'm not the one who wants to hurt you, Kyle. Believe me, the farthest thing from it. Your parents might, your other douchebaggy friends who abandoned you might, and those faggy Goth kids sure as hell do, but not me Kyle, you should know that, of all people." Stan's sincere gaze bore straight into Kyle's delicate soul, and Stan felt a familiar pinch at the bridge of his nose before his vision became blurry with salty water, courtesy of his tear ducts. Kyle opened his mouth to give a snarky reply but Stan cut him off.

"Look I know how you feel, trust me, I do. I've been there before, I've been in a place where I thought absolutely no one cared, and the only people who could possibly understand were the people who thought they were as miserable as me. But it's not true. People do care, you showed me that Kyle. You were the only person who ever believed in me, and to be honest it hurts that you don't think, after all we've been through, that I believe in you." here Stan paused to search Kyle's face, which, evidently, displayed about as much emotion as Craig on a good day. Taking a breath, he continued.

"I know it's hard to have your whole world collapse underneath you, it leaves you with no sense of direction, no idea what you should possibly do next, but the Kyle I know wouldn't let that deter him. The Kyle I know would never let himself go within fifty feet of a heroin needle, he'd sacrifice himself to Mecha Streisand before he ever even thought about asking for a light, and he'd sure as hell never ask for a sip of my drink. The Kyle I know and love would keep pushing on and he'd make it through. You don't deserve this Kyle, I know you don't. You're way too young for this, you have so much of life ahead of you, and you can't stop now. You can't let yourself fall apart, not when your best friend still believes in you. Trust me, it gets better, I know it will. If you don't want to believe me, then you can go try to find someone else who cares about you as much as I do, but for _God's sake_ Kyle, get a hold of yourself!" When Stan finally finished, he was breathing heavily and Kyle didn't fail to notice the fiery look in Stan's eyes just before he looked away awkwardly, leaving Kyle staring dazedly at nothing.

"I'm sorry, Kyle, I shouldn't have said that—

Stan started to blabber but Kyle shushed him.

"No, you should have said that. You of all people know that was exactly the right thing to say."

He smiled sheepishly, "That's why we're friends, right? You always know what I need to hear."

Stan gave a hollow smile, "Damn straight." He said, but it lacked emotion.

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose, "God, I feel like such a douchebag."

"It's okay, you are." Stan quipped halfheartedly.

Kyle lightly smacked his arm before a tear silently rolled down his cheek. The first he had cried in a long time.

"No really, I completely ignored you; all you were doing is trying to keep me from ending up like…like _this_." He spat the word "this" with venom, like it was the absolute worst swear word in the world. He looked pointedly at Stan through his tears before throwing himself into his arms.

"I-I'm sorry, Stan." He said between shaky breaths. He pulled away slightly, "So h-how do we fix me?"

For the first time in a long time, Stan smiled his first real, genuine, _Stan_ smile. It was that smile that made Kyle feel as if everything was going to be alright, the smile that saved his ass from ending up hopeless on the streets for the rest of his life. Stan wasn't even aware he had a messiah smile, but Kyle sure as hell was. Despite his tears, he grinned like an idiot at the sight of that _damned_ smile.

"You don't need fixing, Kyle, you need milk." Stan's messiah smile morphed into his idiotic grin, yet another one of Kyle's all-time favorite smiles. Stan was right, milk made everything better.

"Your place or mine?" Kyle asked, grinning conspiratorially

"Mine, of course, your mom only has that soy shit no one likes, unless it's chocolate." Stan made a face at the thought of vanilla spy milk.

"Well, Stan, you'd better hope you have enough milk to last into the next century." Kyle grinned wickedly as Stan pulled him to his feet, wearing a grin that matched his own. Before they made their way down the street, Kyle picked up the cup that had been lying forgotten in the middle of the road. Stan smiled sadly as Kyle pocketed the cup, knowing it was meant to be reminder for all the things he had been through, and how it sure as hell wasn't worth it. They still had a lot of healing to do, on Kyle's part, but they would cross that bridge when they came to it. For now, they had to go pretend to get drunk off their asses on whole milk and end up passed out on Stan's bedroom floor in front of the TV playing Left for Dead 2 well into the wee hours of the night.

As Stan slung an arm around his Super Best Friend's shoulder, her heard Kyle whisper, "Thanks."

Stan smiled softly as they walked shoulder-to-shoulder in the direction of Stan's house.

"No problem, dude."

* * *

I have no idea what possessed me to write this angsty fic, but I figured, why the hell not? I've never done angst before and I kind of wanted to expand my horizons…if that makes sense.

Kenny: I'll expand your horizons *wiggles eyebrows*

Vindi: *whacks Kenny upside the head* Kenny, don't you have a Butters to go fuck?

Kenny: *look of recognition dawns on his face* SHIT! You're right I do! *runs off frantically in the general direction of Butters' house*

Well, that takes care of that XD Anyvays, Matt n' Trey own South Park, yadda yadda yadda, this is a songfic, by the way. And the person who can guess which song it is (which I don't own by the way!) will get a South Park fic written for them, all their own with a whole dedication and everything. Any pairing, any plot, any category as long as it's South Park, it can be pure smut, crack, fluff, angst, what have you, but only if you can guess which song this is. (hint: the song title is woven somewhere into the fic) Good luck!

Giselle, the review button gets lonely :D

R&R loves

~Vindi


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